Dead Guilty (18 page)

The
board held photos of the three hanging victims
from Sheriff Braden’s jurisdiction, photographs of the
Chris Edwards and Raymond Waller crime scenes, a
list of similarities, a photo of Steven Mayberry’s car,
and a map indicating the location of each crime scene.
It was not unlike the display she had in her own lab.

As
Diane passed various detectives and staff, some
were friendly and spoke; others frowned upon seeing
her. She had no idea what motivated either of the two
camps. She smiled at all of them.

Chief
Garnett
ushered
her
into
his
office,
where
Sheriff
Braden
sat
in
a
chair
near
Garnett’s
desk,
twirling his hat in his hands. Diane had expected Garnett to have an ornate office, but it was basically utili
tarian with faux leather and chrome chairs, metal desk
and a long wood conference table. Hanging on sandcolored walls were diplomas, awards, photographs of
Garnett shaking hands with numerous politicians and
framed newspaper clippings. Diane wondered briefly
if he had sprayed the clippings with a deacidifier so
they wouldn’t yellow. She smiled inwardly at herself.
‘‘Good to see you again, Sheriff.’’
The sheriff rose and shook her hand. ‘‘I got your

fax.
That’s a lot of good information about those vic
tims. Impressed me. We ought to be able to identify
them real quick. It doesn’t look like they were home
less after all, does it?’’

‘‘No,’’
agreed
Diane.
‘‘They
seem
to
have
been
well off.’’
She sat down at the table, and the sheriff pulled his
chair around so that he was opposite her.
‘‘You
say
you’ll
be
able
to
give
me
pictures
of
their faces?’’
‘‘Neva Hurley is working a reconstruction now. She
says she’ll have them done quickly.’’
‘‘Now, that’ll be just real helpful.’’
Garnett sat down at the head of the table, with the
sheriff to his right and Diane to his left.
‘‘We keep as up to date with techniques as we can,’’
he said, claiming a resource he only recently knew he
had.
Garnett
looked
down
at
the
folder
in
front
of
him before turning to Diane.
‘‘I
thought
it
would
be
good
for
you
to
go
over
what you have so far. I’ve included the sheriff because
there’s a good chance the crimes are connected and I
think it would benefit all of us to cooperate.’’
Of course you do,
thought Diane. For Garnett and
the mayor to make Rosewood the crime-solving center
of
the
region,
they
had
to
have
the
cooperation
of
the
surrounding
counties.
What
better
way
than
to
cooperate with them first?
‘‘We’re
holding
Kacie
Beck
right
now,’’
Garnett
continued. ‘‘By her own admission, she was there right
at the time of death. She called nine-one-one at eleven
eighteen. M.E. put the time of death close to eleven.
A witness saw Miss Beck drive up at a little after nine.
It doesn’t look good for her. I’m thinking that if she
didn’t help kill Edwards, she knows who did.’’
Diane took the folder from in front of Garnett and
thumbed through the reports. She pointed to an item.
‘‘My team found a thermometer showing a tempera
ture
reading
of
103
degrees
on
Chris
Edwards’
nightstand, along with cold medications. If he was run
ning a temperature that high at the time of death, it
will push back the time of death estimate to around
seven
P
.
M
.
The
M.E.
didn’t
have
that
information
when she took a liver temperature at the crime scene.’’
Garnett took the report back from Diane, removed
a pair of glasses from his pocket and examined it as
if
for
the
first
time.
‘‘We
don’t
know
that
this
was
Edwards’ temperature.’’
‘‘Not
now,
but
we
took
a
swab
from
the
thermometer . . .’’ began Diane. She reached over and
pulled out the autopsy report on Chris Edwards. ‘‘Dr.
Webber
indicates
he
had
congestion
in
his
lungs.’’
Diane looked for attachments. ‘‘His blood work is not
back yet.’’
Garnett started to speak, but was interrupted by his
phone. From the one-sided conversation, Diane knew
it was Lynn Webber. Diane wasn’t sure why she had
bothered with this elaborate ruse. It wasn’t a desire
to
spare
Lynn
Webber’s
feelings
or
reputation
that
motivated her. What she wanted was to keep on good
terms with the sheriff—and Garnett, for that matter.
Both seemed rather swept off their feet by Webber.
‘‘That was Dr. Webber,’’ said Garnett, returning the
phone to its cradle. ‘‘She said the blood work came
back
on
Edwards
showing
he
had
an
infection
and
that
he
probably
had
a
fever.
That
corresponds
to
what you were telling us.’’
Diane merely nodded.
‘‘That doesn’t mean that Miss Beck isn’t good for
it,’’ continued Garnett. ‘‘But we’ll have to let her go.’’
‘‘No sign of Steven Mayberry?’’ the sheriff asked.
‘‘No.
He
seems
to
have
vanished.
He’ll
turn
up
sooner or later—I hope alive.’’
‘‘I just finished the rope analysis.’’ Diane explained
about the waggoner’s hitch.
‘‘Well, I’ll be,’’ said the sheriff. ‘‘You got that from
that old piece of rope?’’
‘‘It doesn’t mean he’s a truck driver,’’ said Diane.
‘‘I
understand.
But
it’s
a place
to
start,’’
said
the
sheriff. ‘‘Who’d’ve thought you could find anything in
an old piece of rope like that?’’
‘‘You sure that rope belongs with the crime scene
and
it
wasn’t
one
that
just
happened
to
be
in
the
woods?’’
Garnett didn’t seem to be criticizing, but rather the
evidence appeared to excite him and he didn’t want
it
to
evaporate
by
being
irrelevant.
Everything
that
Diane
did
in
the
crime
lab
that
impressed
Sheriff
Braden—or anyone else—was a feather in Garnett’s
cap.
‘‘It has the same orange fiber on it that was on the
clothes of the victims and on all the hanging ropes.
The fourth noose and the Cobber’s Wood crime scene
also had the orange fiber, but no skin cells around the
noose. It was never used.’’
Garnett nodded, looking satisfied.
Diane reviewed the evidence, crime scene by crime
scene,
starting
with
Steven
Mayberry’s
truck,
which
was found on a dirt road near a small lake. ‘‘There
was blood on the steering wheel and some smeared
on the seat. We don’t have the lab work back yet, so
we can’t say whose it is.’’
‘‘It could be Chris Edwards’, then?’’ said Garnett.
‘‘Could be anyone’s. We found Mayberry’s finger
prints on the steering wheel. Some were in the blood,
indicating
the
prints
were
left
when
the
blood
was
fresh. His fingerprints were also on the dash, the seat,
the
gas
cap,
and
the
back
gate
of
the
truck.
Chris
Edwards’ prints were on the passenger’s side dash, the
inside and outside door handles and the glove com
partment. On the passenger’s side we found another
set of unidentified prints. They were smaller and could
be female.’’
‘‘Miss Beck?’’ said Garnett.
‘‘No.
We
have
her
prints
and
these
don’t
match.
Inside the car we found three beer bottle caps, and a
parking ticket issued by the Bartram campus police.
He had parked in a faculty lot at the university library.
The ticket had a boot print on it that matched Chris
Edwards’ left boot. We also found carpet fibers that
matched
Mayberry’s
trailer
carpet.
There
were
also
cotton
fibers,
but
we
won’t
be
able
to
provide
any
distinguishing match for those.’’
‘‘I don’t suppose there were any orange carpet fi
bers?’’ said Garnett.
‘‘No matching orange carpet fibers found anywhere
yet. So far we haven’t been able to physically connect
any of the crime scenes. The only connection is the
coincidence
of
Edwards
and
Mayberry
finding
the
bodies and Waller assisting with the autopsy.’’
‘‘So
it
could
all
be
a
coincidence,’’
said
Garnett.
‘‘And one murder doesn’t have a damn thing to do
with the others.’’
Diane briefly went over the other crime scenes, ex
cept
Raymond
Waller’s.
They
had
covered
them
in
the previous meeting, but it helped her to repeat the
evidence.
She
suspected
it
would
help
Braden
and
Garnett too.
Both Sheriff Braden and Chief Garnett were silent
when she finished her summary. Each sat back in his
chair like they were digesting a large meal.
‘‘The perp was looking for something in both the
Edwards and Waller crime
scenes,’’ said the sheriff,
after a moment.
‘‘In
Mayberry’s
trailer,
too,’’
said
Diane.
‘‘It
was
tossed like the others.’’
‘‘So what do you think the perp, or perps, was look
ing
for?’’
asked
the
sheriff
to
neither
of
them
in
particular.
‘‘Waller had a significant baseball collection,’’ said
Garnett. ‘‘I don’t know that our other two boys had
anything valuable.’’
Diane
gave
Garnett
copies
of
the
newest
reports
on the Chris Edwards scene and gave the sheriff the
photographs of the Cobber’s Wood skeletons.
‘‘I’ll send you information as it comes in,’’ she said.
‘‘For the sheriff’s case, identifying the victims is the
key to the solution. If the crimes are related, then that
may shed light on the others.’’
‘‘If
not,
it’ll
have
to
be
the
old-fashioned
way
of
interviewing
everyone
the
vics
knew,’’
said
Garnett.
‘‘I’ve
got
detectives
doing
that
right
now.
So
far,
it
looks
like
Edwards
and
Mayberry
didn’t
have
an
enemy in the world. They were just two recent gradu
ates from the forestry department working as timber
cruisers. Raymond Waller didn’t have any enemies ei
ther. He went to work every day and never got into
any trouble. The worst we could find out about him
is that he may have given a funeral home or two a
heads-up on deaths that came through the morgue.’’
Garnett turned to Diane. ‘‘Do you think it was the
killer who called you?’’
‘‘I don’t know. Every time the news shows that in
terview with me the day we opened the crime lab, I
get all kinds of mail and phone calls from people who
don’t like it. It could very well be one of those people
with some strange take on justice. However, the flow
ers bother me.’’
‘‘Flowers?’’ asked the sheriff.
Diane explained to him about the flowers, the Email and the phone call.
‘‘This changes things a bit. You say you occasionally
have
this
problem
from
people
who
see
the
interview?’’
‘‘None have ever sent flowers before.’’
‘‘The guy who called from the motel on 441 says he
sent the flowers, and he also E-mailed you from inside
the museum.’’
‘‘I don’t know if the E-mail was the same guy—but
the themes of justice and guilt seem to be similar. So
it wouldn’t be a stretch thinking it’s the same person.’’
‘‘Then
if
we
watch
you,
we’re
likely
to
catch
the
killer,’’ said the sheriff.
‘‘For which crime?’’ asked Garnett.
‘‘Who knows?’’ began the sheriff.
He
was
interrupted
by
a
detective
who
stuck
his
head in the door.
‘‘Chief,
we
got
an
emergency
call
from
Dr.
Lynn
Webber.’’

Garnett
and the sheriff dashed out the door. Diane
wanted to go with them, but there was no reason for
her presence. She stood in Garnett’s office a moment
with a chill in the pit of her stomach. What was going
on? She was beginning to feel responsible for not solv
ing the murders. Maybe there was something she and
her team had missed.

As
she
started
out
the
door,
Janice
Warrick
ap
peared
suddenly,
blocking
her
exit.
She
had
on
her
blue police uniform, her light brown hair pulled back
into
the
same
French
twist
she
wore
when
she
was
a detective.

‘‘I
know you think I blame you,’’ Warrick said, ‘‘and
maybe I do a little, but Neva tells me you treat her
fairly
and
take
up
for
her
with
him.’’
She
nodded
toward Garnett’s office.

‘‘I
try to treat all my employees fairly. Neva does a
good job.’’
Janice
Warrick
stood
for
a
moment,
still
in
front
of Diane, hesitating. ‘‘There’s something that’s been
bothering
me.
I’m
not
usually a
cruel
person,
but
I
said something cruel to you that had to do with your
daughter being adopted—about your picking up strays.
It’s
weighed
on
me.’’
She
hesitated
a
moment
and
Diane thought she might actually get teary. ‘‘I’m sorry
about that. I was sorry as soon as I said it.’’ She turned
abruptly and walked off before Diane could respond.
Diane left Garnett’s office and wove her way through
the squad room. She stopped at the whiteboard a mo
ment, looking for anything they might have thought
of that she and her team hadn’t. But there was noth
ing, no pattern or startling revelation jumping out at
her.
On the steps outside the police station, she ran into
Kacie Beck. Her blond hair hung in limp sections, and
she pushed a lock of it out of her eyes when she saw
Diane. Her blue eyes looked bluer, set in her blood
shot sclera. She looked at Diane a moment, as if not
remembering where she had seen her.
‘‘I was at the crime scene,’’ offered Diane.
‘‘I didn’t kill Chris. If you think I did, you’re letting
the real murderer get away.’’
‘‘I
don’t
think
anything.
I
just
worked
the
crime
scene. Can I ask you some questions?’’
‘‘I’ve told the police everything I know. I’m tired
and I want to go home.’’
‘‘I can see you need some peace. I just have a few
questions.’’
Kacie looked around. ‘‘Shit, I don’t have my car.’’
She dug in her purse and brought out her phone and
scowled at the display. ‘‘They let the damn thing run
down. The least they could do was turn it off for me.’’
‘‘Let me take you home.’’
‘‘Why not? But you aren’t going to get me to admit
to anything I didn’t do.’’
Diane led her to her car, and Kacie got in on the
passenger’s side and sat slumped in the corner. She
looked even smaller than she did sitting on Chris Ed
wards’ couch at the crime scene.
‘‘Buckle your seat belt,’’ said Diane.
‘‘What does it matter? It would at least end it if I
went through the windshield.’’
‘‘Maybe
not.
You
might
just
end
up
scarred
and
brain damaged. Besides, if we’re involved in an acci
dent, you might flop around inside the car and hurt
me.’’
Kacie laughed despite herself and clicked her seat
belt in place. Diane drove to a Waffle House close to
Kacie’s apartment. Inside, Diane selected a booth in
the
rear
of
the
diner.
Kacie
ordered
a
hamburger.
Diane ordered a slice of pie and coffee.
When the waitress left the table, Kacie said, ‘‘I gotta
go to the bathroom and wash my hands and face. I’ve
never
been
in
a
jail
before.
What
a
nasty,
stinking
place.’’
After
several
minutes,
Diane
wasn’t
sure
she
was
coming back. But eventually, Kacie slid back into her
seat, looking marginally better. Little strands of moist
hair bordered her face. As they waited for their order,
Kacie nervously turned the
engagement ring on her
finger.
‘‘That’s a nice ring,’’ said Diane.
Kacie stopped turning it and looked at the ring—a
diamond solitaire set in either platinum or white gold.
‘‘Chris gave it to me the morning before he died.’’
It looked like a rather large diamond to Diane, but
she didn’t know jewelry and it had been quite a while
since
she
had
an
engagement
ring.
The
waitress
brought their food and drinks. Kacie nibbled at her
hamburger, put it down and picked up a fry.
‘‘I’m sorry about Chris,’’ said Diane.
‘‘I hate this. The police don’t know what they are
doing. Sometimes they acted like Chris was involved
in something and caused this himself.’’
‘‘They’re just trying to find out what happened to
him.’’
‘‘It looked like one of those home invasions to me.’’
‘‘Did Chris have a lot of valuables? Do you know
what they might have been looking for?’’
Kacie
shrugged
her
shoulders and
nibbled
on
her
fry. Diane tried another tack.
‘‘He must have paid a lot for that diamond. Does
Chris have a lot of money that the thieves may have
been after?’’
Kacie looked at her ring. ‘‘He said he was going to
show my parents. They don’t really like Chris.’’
‘‘Why
not?
He
was
a
nice
guy
with
an
advanced
degree. He had a job.’’
‘‘My parents consider forestry blue-collar.’’
‘‘Ah, they must know my parents.’’
Kacie looked up at Diane, her blue eyes puzzled.
‘‘My parents consider anyone not a doctor or a law
yer to be blue-collar—unless he owns a Fortune 500
company.’’
‘‘That’s sort of my parents.’’ She smirked. ‘‘It’s not
going to look good in the hometown paper that I was
arrested for his murder.’’
Diane
guessed
that
Kacie
really
was
looking
for
ward to it coming out in the hometown paper.
‘‘You
don’t
have
any
clue
who
might
have
done
this? Could Steven Mayberry have killed him?’’
‘‘Steven? The police asked that. No. No more than
I could. We’re students—we don’t kill people.’’
‘‘I thought Steven and Chris had graduated.’’
‘‘They’ve
finished
their
course
work.
They
both
have to finish their thesis, but they’re almost done—
were almost done.’’
Diane wasn’t getting anywhere talking to Kacie. She
now believed Kacie had no idea why her fiance
was
killed.
‘‘Do
you
have
any
idea
where
Steven
Mayberry
might be?’’
‘‘He
has
family.
Haven’t
the
police
contacted
them?’’
‘‘I’m
sure.
But
I
thought
you
might
know
some
place he would go.’’
‘‘If he’s not with family, then . . .’’ She let it trail off.
‘‘Why did you go over there so late?’’
‘‘Chris’?
I
had
to
work
late.
I
didn’t
get
off
till
eleven.’’
‘‘A witness said you were there earlier than eleven.’’
‘‘That’s what the police kept asking me. I was there,
but I didn’t go in—not all the way in. I had a twentyminute break, and I ran over to check on him. He’d
been coming down with something. I knocked, opened
the door a little and called out. The house was dark.
When he didn’t answer, I thought he was asleep and
I didn’t want
to wake him up.’’ Tears
sprang up in
her eyes. ‘‘I thought he needed rest. Maybe if I’d gone
in, maybe— I always lock the door when I’m there.
Chris never did. If I’d been there and had the door
locked, whoever it was wouldn’t have gotten in and
he’d still be alive.’’
‘‘There
was
nothing
you
could
have
done.
Don’t
blame yourself.’’
‘‘You don’t think I did it?’’
Not without a lot of help,
she thought. ‘‘No, I don’t
think you did.’’
Kacie wasn’t very hungry. Diane had Kacie’s meal
put in a carryout. She dropped her off at her apart
ment and walked her to her door.
‘‘Try to get some sleep. Do you have a friend you
can call?’’
Kacie nodded. ‘‘I’ll be all right.’’